


White Gold and Brass

by CrashDevil (cjdevlin19)



Series: Crash Into Me [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I'm not sorry, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 18:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18580510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdevlin19/pseuds/CrashDevil
Summary: Sam and Dean head to a hunt in Northwest Florida. When the local New Age shop doesn’t provide the items needed for their spell, Dean meets a shy young witch who is all too happy to help.~~~~~~~~~“Excuse me?” A soft voice called and he turned in the space between the little red motorcycle and the Impala. The blond was approaching, apprehension in her movements, like she couldn’t believe she was doing what she was. “What do you need fever root and bitterwort for?”Dean analyzed every bit of her in a few seconds to determine if the truth would be a better approach than a lie. She had a silver pentacle necklace on her neck and a tattoo of the moon on her right inner forearm. Everything about her was understated and plain, like she was well-versed in drawing as little attention as possible, she was definitely a believer, not some wannabe. “My brother and I are looking for something. Gonna do a location spell to find it.”“It’s an important something?”Dean nodded. “Life or death.”She examined Dean’s face looking for a lie, but found none. She bit her bottom lip a moment, then nodded, looking at her feet again. “I have them. I have both, at my apartment.”





	White Gold and Brass

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just me as an OFC. It's self-indulgent but I'm not gonna apologize for it. Don't like it, don't read it.

  


 

 

**Story Warnings** : canon-typical violence, little bit of background angst, language?

* * *

“I dunno, Sam. This place looks small. I might  _have_  to go to the one in Port St. Joe,” Dean said, pulling into the small strip of businesses that had the New Age shop nestled between a laundromat and a hair salon. He pushed in front of the sign with tie-dye coloring and trippy font that read ‘ _Elements and Wisdom of the Divine_ ’.

“That’s a hundred miles away, Dean.”

“Thank you. I can use Google, too. I  _know_  how far away it is. I’m just sayin’… I don’t think this place is gonna have it.” He turned off the Impala and got out, giving a look to a small red motorcycle that he parked next to. “This place is not legit, man. I think it’s just gonna be a hippie kinda thing. Stones and essential oils but nothing useful.”

“Well, I hope not. The sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can figure out what we’re hunting.”

“My money’s still on Rougaru. Didn’t that body look like Travis after whatshisname got through with ‘im?”

“Yeah, but lots of monsters eat sloppy like that. Just… let me know if you find what we need.”

“Yeah. All right. Bye, Sam.” The smell of Nag Champa incense assaulted Dean as soon as he opened the door and he rolled his eyes before surveying the little shop. A large bookshelf to his left was filled with all manner of ‘metaphysical’ books, including some by John Edwards and one titled. ‘Talking To Angels’ that made Dean snort. To his right was a rack of essential oils, and a case with gemstone wands, ceremonial knives and obviously handmade jewelry.

A tall brunette woman stood behind the counter and the only customer other than Dean stood to the far left, examining a rack of gemstone pendulums.

The other customer was short, five-three at the most, with long light blond hair and dark blond roots. She was chunky, but when she turned to look at him he could see she had a cute face and brilliant green eyes behind her black specs. When she saw him, she blushed and turned away. As he walked to the turning rack with bags of herbs, each neatly labeled with a name and uses, Dean caught sight of a white gold band on her left ring finger.  _ ***Guess I won’t be flirting.***_

As he looked through the bags, he felt eyes on him. He looked up to catch the short blond woman staring at him, but every time their green eyes met, she’d turn pink and look away. He searched the rack thoroughly before letting out a loud exasperated sigh. He’d called it. This shop was a waste. He plastered on a fake smile and stepped to the counter. “You don’t have any fever root or bitterwort over there on the rack. Any chance you got some hidin’ in the back?”

Dean felt the blond’s eyes on him again. He flashed a bright smile at her and she gave a tight one in response before turning back to the pendulums, running her hand over each of them in turn. “Sorry, sir. Fever root and bitterwort don’t sell so we don’t carry them anymore.”

Dean let out a growling noise. “Great. Just fuckin’… great.” He took a deep breath and smiled at the hippie. “Thanks anyway.” As soon as he was out the door, he clenched his teeth and balled his hands into his fists. “Son of a bitch!”

“Excuse me?” A soft voice called his attention and he turned in the space between the little red motorcycle and the driver’s side door of the Impala. The blond was approaching, a definite apprehension in her movements, like she couldn’t believe she was doing what she was. She pushed her glasses up her nose and took a shaky breath, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “What do you need fever root and bitterwort for?”

Dean licked his lips, analyzing every bit of her in a few seconds to determine if the truth would be a better approach than a lie. Aside from the fact that he knew she was in the New Age shop, she had a silver pentacle necklace on her neck and a tattoo of the moon on her right inner forearm. Everything about her was understated, simple and plain, like she was well-versed in drawing as little attention as possible but she was definitely a believer, not some wannabe. “My brother and I are looking for something. We’re gonna do a location spell to find it.”

“It’s an  _important_  something?”

Dean nodded. “Life or death important.”

She examined Dean’s face, looking for a lie, but she found none. She bit her bottom lip a moment, then nodded, looking at her feet again. “I have them. I have both, at my apartment. If you wanted to wait around here, I could-”

“I mean, I appreciate it, but we’re on a bit of a time-crunch, so… if you wouldn’t mind me followin’ you home?” He gave a hopeful smile and she swallowed and gave a small smile in return.

“Yeah, I guess that’d be okay.” She moved around to the opposite side of the motorcycle and picked up a shiny red helmet. Dean smiled at her as she pulled her glasses off and tugged the helmet onto her head. She flipped the visor up, put her glasses back on, and kicked her leg over the seat. “You’re gonna take a left out of the parking lot, right at the first light, left at the second light and then it’s a straight shot. If I lose you, I’ll wait at the gas station just past the bridge.”

She pulled a key that said ‘Honda’ out of her pocket and stuck it in the bike’s ignition. As Dean pulled open his door, he saw a beaded keychain attached that read ‘Crash’, which seemed a little inappropriate considering the key it was attached to. She flipped the visor down, turned the engine on and pushed the kickstand up with her foot.

Dean followed her in the Impala, not too close to make her nervous but close enough not to lose her on any of the turns she mentioned. He liked the way her hair whipped around behind her as she rode and how she dropped her hand off the clutch to rest her hand on her left thigh. She seemed so at home on that bike.  _ ***I don’t even know this chick’s name.***_

She pulled into an apartment complex a mile and four more turns past the bridge she mentioned and Dean pulled in next to her. She flipped the visor up, took her glasses off, pulled the helmet off and replaced the glasses before getting off the bike. “Hey, I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Cassie.” She gave a smile and headed for the staircase up to the second floor of apartments.

Dean couldn’t help but think of Cassie Robinson.  _ ***Definitely gonna have to find something else to call her.***_  “All right, well, I really do appreciate this, sweetheart.”

She stopped at the door to apartment 108 and turned to him, a sudden confidence in her stance and face. She looked up into his eyes, for the first time gaining and maintaining eye contact with him. “I have three swords scattered around this apartment, two dozen knives of varying size and function, and a pistol,” she warned. “My daughter and husband are asleep in the bedroom. Don’t make me have to wake them to the sound of me killing some psycho.”

Dean smirked down at her. She went from shy and reserved to badass in a single moment. It was actually pretty sexy. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded and unlocked the door, quietly stepping in. Dean followed, silently closing the door behind him. The apartment was definitely a ‘first apartment’. The couch was a futon with a metal frame, the TV was sitting on a plastic and pressboard entertainment center, the coffee table was the same pressboard. It had its homey touches, like pictures on the wall, but the video game character posters definitely overshadowed and made it feel more like a dorm room than a married couple’s place. The katana on the shelf in the corner was likely decorative, but the short sword over the breakfast bar by the kitchen seemed like it might have an actual edge to it.

“ _Dragon Quest_ , huh? I’ve always liked  _Final Fantasy_  better,” Dean whispered, pointing at the poster over the futon.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve always been more  _Super Mario Bros._ , didn’t even know what DQ was until I met my husband. He’s obsessed.” She dropped her purse on the counter and walked into the tiny kitchen. “Between that and  _Legend of Zelda_ , he’s given more money to Nintendo than is actually acceptable.” She pulled open the cabinet closest to the fridge and pulled out a small Rubbermaid container with a sign on the front that said  **Spell Shit- DO NOT TOUCH!!!**

Dean stepped into the kitchen as she started to rifle through sandwich bags filled with herbs, checking each handwritten sign to find what he needed. “So… uh, how long you been a witch?”

“Since I was twelve years old. Kinda got tired of the hypocrisy at the Baptist church.” Dean nodded. He understood that feeling. “Fever root,” she said, yanking a bag from the box and setting it on the counter before continuing. “And bitterwort. How much do you need?” she asked, turning to him with both bags in her hand.

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. My brother, Sam, is the one workin’ the spell. How ‘bout I bring back whatever we don’t use? That cool?”

She nodded and handed the bags to him. “If you have to use it all, that’s fine. I haven’t needed them much since I found my husbands wedding ring.”

Dean smiled as he stuffed the bags in his jacket pocket. “Again. Appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean nodded and headed for the door. Cassie followed him to the door and held it open as he stepped out onto her porch. “Good luck with whatever it is that you need to find.”

“Thanks. I’ll catch ya later.” Dean moved quickly down the steps and waved at the woman as he pulled out of the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean threw the bags on the motel table and headed to grab a beer from the mini-fridge. Sam looked up, surprised. “They had it?”

“Nope.” Dean twisted the cap off of his beer and flicked it across the room. “But there was this little witch MILF who overheard what I was lookin’ for… she had it back at her place.”

“Oh. This must be her neat little cursive,” Sam said, looking at the index card in the fever root bag. “You get her number?”

“Funny.” Dean took a drink of his beer. “She’s married.”

Sam scoffed and stood. “Yeah, okay. Well, while you were getting the herbs, I found a connection between the vics. It might not mean anything, but… each of them had an appointment with their cable provider the day they died.”

Dean pursed his lips. “Huh, that’s a weird coincidence if it is one. Same cable provider?”

“Yeah, uh, Cox Cable. I couldn’t get into their records to see if they sent the same tech to each house, but it’s a good bet they did.”

“All right, well, you wanna get the spell goin’ and I’ll put on a suit and go talk to the cable company, see if I can get ‘em to tell me who took these calls?” Dean set down the beer, already heading to get changed.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll find the stuff that was taken from the victims’ homes and you can go to talk to the cable company.”

“Hopefully, we’ll find ourselves with the same answers.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean tapped his fingers against the counter as he waited for the supervisor at Cox Communications. His mind kept going back to Cassie. Something about her wouldn’t leave his mind alone. The way she moved her hips when she was switching lanes on that bike, the way she flipped that badass switch, the way she was so comfortable threatening him with the arsenal of weaponry she kept in her apartment. Man, if she weren’t married, he’d show her the time of her life.

“Agent Hagar?”

Dean smiled and nodded as the supervisor pulled him from his thoughts. “Mr. Johnson?”

“Yes, sir. I was told you needed to know which tech was sent to work on several homes?”

“Yeah, I have a list. It’s three names.”

“It’s not exactly policy to-”

Dean sighed and made his face go hard. “Look, I’m not here for the fun of it, Mr. Johnson. I’m investigating murders.” The man’s eyes went wide. “Three of your customers, brutally murdered in their own homes and your company was in those homes just hours before. You  _want_  to tell me which tech, or techs, went because I promise that if I have to go get a warrant I will make it hell for you and your  _whole_  company.”

“No. No, of course not. Uh, c-can I have that list?”

Dean suppressed the smirk as he handed the list of names and addresses to Mr. Johnson.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gary Alexander,” Dean said, driving back toward the motel. “He lives at 289 Car-”

“Carmel Drive? That’s where the watch and necklace are.”

“So, we did end up with the same answer. Awesome. Any clue what we’re lookin’ at, yet? Going in blind isn’t the best idea, ya know?”

“I figure we’ll just load up everything we might need and go from there.”

“Yeah, all right. I’m right down the road. See you in a few.” Dean hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. “Hey, did you use all that fever root and bitterwort? I promised the witch I’d bring the leftovers back,” Dean asked as he walked into the motel room.

“Uh, yeah, I used all the fever root, but there’s some bitterwort left.”

“Awesome. I’ll do that after the hunt’s over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Winchesters moved silently through Gary Alexander’s one-story house, pistols raised and silver-bladed knives hanging from their belts. The house seemed vacant. There was less in the way of furniture than the apartment Dean visited earlier and no sign of Gary. Dean slipped into the bedroom and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place or monster-y, until Dean noticed several dead bugs on the floor next to the bed. A roach, three flies and two beetles. He pulled the blanket back and groaned. The bed was made of bugs.  _ ***That’s familiar.***_  “Sam!” Dean gave a harsh whisper. The bigger Winchester pushed his way into the bedroom. “Right after Dad died, we did that thing with the clown.” Sam grimaced at the memory. “Yeah, I know. Clowns, bad. What was that and how’d we kill it? Copper? Brass?” Dean asked, gesturing at the bed.

“Uh, a rakshasa. Brass,” Sam confirmed.

“Hey, is that knife I made in the trunk?”

“Actually, yeah,” Sam said, nodding as he rushed out toward the Impala.

Dean put his back to the wall as he remembered that rakshasas had invisibility. Gary might be there. “Hurry up, Sam. I hate invisible monsters.”

“We hate you, too, hunter!” a disembodied voice growled. A fist collided with Dean’s face and he wildly reached out, trying to grab the monster.

“ _Sam_!”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice came from the living room as Gary’s fists smashed into Dean’s face and he tried to defend against a force he couldn’t see.

“ _Fuck_! Sam, he’s in here!”

“Dean!” Sam barreled into the room, lifting a long brass knife defensively.

Dean brought his knee up hard into what he hoped was Gary Alexander’s crotch and pushed away from the wall, tackling the monster to the ground. Sam tossed the knife across the room to Dean, who grabbed it from the air with absolutely no effort and plunged it into the creature’s chest. As soon as blood started to soak the rakshasa’s clothes, Dean could see well enough to stab the knife into its heart.

Dean pulled the knife out of the monster and stood, wiping the blood off the knife with the comforter from the bed. “Remember Ash sayin’ that facin’ another rakshasa was like a one in sixty-four thousand probability and that makin’ a knife outta that pipe you used to kill the other one was a waste of time?”

Sam chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I remember you saying ‘Fuck you, Mullet’ and doing it anyway and it’s been sitting in the trunk since then.”

Dean slid the knife into its leather holder and patted Sam on the shoulder as he stepped past. “Mullet was good people.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean looked at his watch as he pulled into the apartment complex right next to the little red Honda. A little after 8:30 wasn’t too late to show up, especially since he’d promised to return. He ascended the stairs with the bag in his hand and knocked lightly, just in case she was sleeping. It took a few minutes but the door eventually opened, albeit slowly, to reveal the witch and a toddler with short dark blond hair.

She was crying. Her glasses weren’t on her face, her eyes were pink and swollen, nose red, and she sniffled as she offered him a false smile. The toddler clung to her leg. Dean smiled a real smile at her and extended the bag out. “Sam used all the fever root, but he had some bitterwort left.”

“Okay. Thanks for bringing it back, Dean.” She pulled the bag out of his fingers and moved to close the door, but Dean placed his hand on it with just enough strength to stop her.

“Look, I know you don’t know me and you  _don’t_  have to talk about it,” Dean started, looking down into her reddened eyes as she sniffled again. “But I got some beers in the cooler in the back of my car. You want one?”

She blinked up at him for a minute as the toddler yanked on her pants. “I… I’d have to bring the baby down, too. I’m the only one here.”

“Yeah, of course!” Dean’s smile triggered a genuine one from her and she reached down to pick up the little girl with the  _Legend of Zelda_  onesie on. She set the girl on her hip and followed him as he walked down to the Impala. He had two beers in hand by the time she got to the car and he twisted the cap off of one and handed it to her. He leaned against the hood took a drink of his, watching as she did the same. She grimaced at the taste, obviously not a fan, but she took another drink, anyway. “So, what’s this cutie’s name?”

“Oh, Aria, say hi to Dean.”

The little girl waved, then grabbed at her mother’s hair. Dean smiled. “Aria, huh? Like, Arya Stark? You a  _Thrones_  fan?”

Cassie rolled her eyes as she pried the tiny fingers off of her hair. “Never seen it. If it’s not on Hulu or Netflix, I don’t have access. I spelled it like the original Italian word, though. It’s an aria, a solo in an opera, the most important part for a singer to get.”

“So, you’re an  _opera_  fan?”

She scoffed and shook her head. “No, not really. Unless you count rock operas… or  _Repo_.” She chuckled. “But I was a drama geek in school and I did a couple years of chorus so I learned the terms. I was sixteen when I decided that I’d name my daughter ‘Aria’ if ever I had one and that was years before I heard of George R.R. Martin.”

“Lucky her dad didn’t fight you on it.”

“He tried.” She shrugged and took a drink before twisting her head to examine the car. “You have a gorgeous car. Like, I don’t know shit about cars beyond aesthetics, but… it’s nice.”

Dean smiled, running his hand along the hood. “Yeah, she’s my baby. An all-American classic. ‘67 Chevy Impala. It’s been part of my family since before I was born. Hell, I mighta been conceived in this car, but I’d rather not think ‘bout that.” He gestured at the motorcycle with the mouth of his beer bottle. “Don’t know shit about motorcycles, but your bike looks pretty good, too.”

“Thanks. I mean, Wanda’s not quite as classic as your Chevy, but… she’s almost as old as I am. She’s a ‘91, I’m an ‘89.”

“Oh, so you’re just a kiddo, yourself.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said, sarcastically before laughing and Dean smirked as she loosened up more. “So… you’re a hunter, aren’t you?” she asked, taking a drink. Dean’s eyebrows went up. “Mysterious stranger in town on ‘Life or Death’ business who knows about real magic? And you’ve got blood on your shirt… hopefully from whatever’s been eating people the last few weeks.” She turned her eyes on him, waiting for a denial or a confirmation.

Dean ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and nodded. “Yeah. My brother and I are hunters, and yeah, we killed the monster.” He waited for her reaction but she just took another drink and kissed her daughter’s head. “Most witches would feel uncomfortable with a hunter.”

“I think we both know I’m not like the witches you hunt.”

“I think you’re just as disillusioned with your Wiccan gods as you were at the Baptist church, kiddo.”

Cassie scoffed, and a little smile crossed her lips. “Hellenistic Neopagan.” Dean gave her a look that said ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ so she laughed. “I’m not Wiccan. I’m a Hellenistic Neopagan. Just means… those gods I’m so disillusioned with,  _when_  I pray it’s not to the generic God and Goddess, it’s to Athena and Zeus and Hera.”

“You dig the Greek gods.”

“Closest I ever got to that ‘God’s Grace’ feeling was when I was reading the Iliad and the Odyssey, my old book of Greek myths and histories. Just felt right to pray to them, you know?”

“But they don’t answer prayers, either,” Dean said, knowingly.

“Or spells or… anything.” Cassie set her empty bottle on the hood behind her and stepped away to bounce the little girl.

Dean could tell she still had a lot weighing on her, but she seemed happier. “So, my brother and I are headin’ out in the morning and we wouldn’t have been able to bring this to such a quick conclusion without your help, so thank you, sweetheart.”

She looked down, her face filling in with pink. “It was nothing.”

“Not nothin’. You were awesome to help me out and you didn’t have to.” He set his bottle next to hers and stepped forward. “Sam and I don’t make it to Florida very often but I always like to have awesome folks in my phone. Gotta have a rolodex, right? If you wanted to give me your number, that’d be great.”

“Just to talk out cases or-”

“Maybe just to talk.”

She bit her lip and pulled Aria’s hand off of her collar. “(850) 865-0404,” she rattled off quickly, like she was afraid to lose her nerve.

Dean pulled out his phone and typed the numbers in from memory, before presenting it to her. “That right?” She nodded. “Awesome. I’ll text you. Hey, I meant to ask… your bike key, it’s got a chain that says ‘Crash’. You don’t think that’s a jinx?”

She laughed, loud and full-bellied. “Crash is my nickname, Dean. My dad made me that keychain when I finished getting my motorcycle endorsement. I don’t think either of us have ever considered it unlucky. Although…” She laughed again. “I  _have_  dropped the bike four times.”

“Dropped the bike?”

“It’s how riders say ‘crashed’ without saying ‘crashed’. ‘Crashed’ is scary, makes people worry for your health and safety. ‘Dropped the bike’ makes people think you’ve just got poor balance.”

“You’ve crashed  _four_  times?”

“Yeah,” she responded, nonchalantly.

“All right, casual badass. I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks for the beer,” she said, grabbing the empties.

“You hated it,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll bring hard liquor next time. What’s your poison?”

“Coconut rum.” She laughed at the look on his face. “Not really. Usually, Wild Turkey, Jack Daniels or Captain Morgan. Mixed with Coke or whatever.”

“I’ll bring Malibu, too, just in case you get a hankering for a chick drink.” He winked as he pulled open his door. “See ya next time, Short Stack,” Dean said, getting in the Impala. He waved as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the motel.


End file.
